Unexpected
by whysosiriusblack45
Summary: Homeless and on the streets, Mae Wilson is a tough and independent woman. A run in with our favorite group of vampires might just change her- for better or for worse. ATTEMPT TO NOT WRITE A MARYSUE DavidxOC T for language & hopefully some naughty bits


So yeah, I just watched the Lost Boys and absolutely fell IN LOVE with David, because who doesn't love some sexy Kiefer Sutherland? :D So anywho, this is the start of a new fic that I'm probably not going to finish, but I'm posting anyways because I am ATTEMPTING to make a character that IS NOT a fucking MarySue. *le gasp!* I know, right! Tell me how you guys like it. :) Should I continue? Should I just chuck it in the trash bin? Your choice. Now- on with the show! Read my darlingk little readers- READ!

Disclaimer (because I always forget to put this in my stories): I do not own the Lost Boys. Or Kiefer Sutherland. No matter how much I may wish that I do.

(PS This applies to every single story I've ever written. I've just forgotten to put this on every single one. I do not own any of the characters or settings or any of that shit. All that stuff goes to their respective owners. I just own my plot bunnies and MarySues. Also OFCs are mine too. But as for the rest of the stuff- I own nothing. I'm not brilliant enough to come up with all that crazy awesomeness.)

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I am not the prettiest girl in the world. Actually, I'm rather plain looking, which is why I had to spice up my appearance with my choice of clothing and makeup. That is- when I was actually still enrolled in school. I was a loner at my school, being literally the only girl who's overweight. I mean, just the summer before, I lost 20 pounds, and I'm still in the overweight category, being 5' 4'' and 167 lbs. Therefore I got poked fun of at my school, not that it really mattered to me. I was calloused long ago. Reality hit me at a young age, forcing me to grow up and be on my own. I don't know why I'm still overweight really; I barely eat anything considering I'm homeless now. Yet somehow I am, and that's all that mattered to anyone at my school. Friends? I never had any, probably never will. I was always the weird kid you see sitting by themselves at the lunch table, nose stuck in a book, too absorbed in fiction to notice reality. And that was how I liked it.

I am homeless. Well, at least now I am. I ran away from my bitch of a mother a year back, my father having died in a car crash long ago. I've been on my own since I was sixteen. Stopped going to school after another year of its uselessness. Didn't think it mattered much anymore. It's not like it was going to help my street skills. Fast forward another year and I'm the girl lurking in an alleyway, digging through the trash to find my next meal. And yet I still haven't lost any weight. I think my fat stays on my body just to spite me. And so I scavenge through the scraps, trying to find something edible to bring back to my "shelter." And where might you ask is my humble abode? Well- I reside in Santa Carla, California. Beautiful place it is; murder capital in the country and all. I'm still surprised that I've managed to survive for two years without getting kidnapped or raped. Probably because no one wants to fuck a fat girl who looks like she can pack a punch. Nah, they prey on the weak skinny girls who probably couldn't throw a punch to save their own lives. That's the only thing that makes me happy about my appearance. It keeps me safe from dirty freaks and perverts. And for that I'm thankful, as thankful as I can be.

Tonight I managed to find some leftover fries and half a corndog. This is actually a very rich meal compared to what I'm used to. I smile, ducking around darkened corners and alleyways to reach my destination. This find could last a day or two. Maybe even three if I stretch it. My brown, leather trench coat billows around me as I finally reach my hideout, jumping down to underneath the pier. See, underneath the pier, there's a wall of rock, a good twenty-five feet high. Now, the tide only reaches up to fifteen feet on the wall, and literally, five feet above the tide line, there is a crack in the rock. Inside the crack there's an extremely tiny, cramped cave. This is where I have a collection of personal belongings set up to resemble something of a home. There are newspapers strewn everywhere to make the rocky floor a little more comfortable, and despite residing right above the crashing tide, my cave is quite dry. A pile of scavenged quilts form what is supposed to be a bed, while an empty milk carton serves as a stash for all of my belongings (which aren't much) as well as a storage place for whatever food I can find. The story behind how I found this cave is actually rather funny. I was hanging out by the beach, keeping an eye out for any food that I could find, when these teenage kids were playing Frisbee. One of the girls overshot it, and the disc flew under the dock and up onto a sharp and dangerous ledge. They all groaned and gave up before even attempting to get it, walking away down the beach to go find boys to take them home for the night. When I was little, my dad and I would always play Frisbee and have the time of our lives. It's about the only memory I have left of him, the only ray of light on my otherwise dark childhood. So naturally, I set off after the Frisbee, ducking under the pier. There were many rafters constructing the underside of the dock, making an easy ladder to the top. Now, I had been on the streets for a little over two years, and trust me, being on the streets toughens you up. Where my muscles had once been nonexistent before, there was now a definite strength, under all my body fat. So climbing up the rafters to retrieve the Frisbee would be no problem. Albeit, a little dangerous, and definitely exhausting, but not impossible. So I climbed up the rafters, wavering dangerously on more than one occasion, threatening to fall off and onto the sharp rocks below, but somehow I made it up to the ledge. There was resting the Frisbee, which I grabbed and stuffed in my trench coat pocket. And there was also my refuge. I found my shelter that day, a little cave underneath the pier, near impossible to reach, keeping me far out of harm's way. I believed in my heart that it was my father's soul watching out for me, sending the Frisbee up the cliff, to help me. To keep me alive. So the cave became my home. I acquired some essential needs, like the blankets, in ways I'm not quite sure I'm proud of. Some of which involved stealing a caramel apple from a child while setting the cotton candy stand on fire on the boardwalk by the fair. Well, setting the cotton candy stand on fire was admittedly enjoyable. It was like saying, "Ha! This is revenge for selling fat and cavities on sticks, you morons!" It may not be reasonable, but it makes me feel better inside. After months of climbing up to my home, sometimes five times a day, my muscles got even stronger, became more defined, though ever still covered in pudgy fat. When I flexed my stomach, I could actually feel abs through the blubber. If possible, I seemed to have gained more weight. I guess it was because I gained muscle, but didn't lose any fat. Seems as though I drew the short stick in the world, huh? But anyways, enough about my weight and self esteem issues.

I was sitting on the beach one night, barefoot, my combat boots lying right beside a small pile of clothes I had shed to bask in the moonlight, leaving me in a thin, grey long-sleeved shirt and my trademark green cargo pants that were three sizes too big for me, kept bunched at my waist with a careworn leather belt. Most people bask in the sun, but the sun and I don't agree. We get into constant fights, most ending with me getting a sunburn. So I like to soak in the moonlight every once in a while. I find it beautiful, the way the silvery streams bounce off the darkness, forming puddles and shadows. It makes me feel very peaceful, while at the same time energized and full of adrenaline. I love the moon, and I love the nighttime, no matter how scary some people think it may be. But the night was getting chilly, and I knew I had to get back to my cave or else I'd freeze. I shivered, the thin fabric of my shirt a meager barrier against the wind. Just as I was pulling on my boots so I could climb back up to my home, I heard voices on the dock above me. I grabbed my pile of clothes and quickly scampered under the pier, melting into the shadows seamlessly. As silently as I could, I pulled on my other garments, whilst eavesdropping on the group of people now standing on my pier. They must be teenagers, I thought as I shrugged on my trench coat. They sure sounded like it, rowdy and loud, jeering a single name every once in a while. _David._ I hear the roar of an engine; must be motorcycles. My curiosity getting the better of me, I climbed up the rafters deftly, and as quietly as I could, wanting to get a better look at what was going on above me. I hid carefully in the darkness, a single strip of light striping my face as I peered between the boards of the pier.

There was a group of four boys standing on the dock, all but one of them having shaggy blonde hair. They were all dressed in punk leather outfits, a cross between gypsy and biker. I smiled a small half smile. If I ever had an abundance of money, I would get clothes like they wore. Their style was the same style I had loved ever since I was a child. I eyed their outfits with jealousy; they must be somewhat rich for them to be able to get clothes like that. Each of the four boys was also on a bike, pretty nice ones too. I was never much of a bikes person, I just liked the style, but those boys riding the motorcycles made it just seem totally badass. I looked wistfully at them. Lucky bastards. I took time looking at each boy in turn. The dark haired one didn't seem to feel the need to wear a shirt though he wore a dark leather jacket, and was always brooding darkly, even as the other boys laughed at some hysterical joke. He seemed very put out. The blonde one with thick hair, curled in tight ringlets seemed to have a permanently creepy smile on his face, which I found rather humorous. His clothes were more gypsy-like than anyone else's in the gang and he wore fingerless leather gloves. The second blonde boy had windswept, shoulder length hair and was dressed in a black leather jacket. He seemed very cocky at best. And the last boy, his hair was bleach blonde, spiking up in a cool kind of mullet. He was wearing all black, and had a large black trench coat on, as well as leather gloves. I bit my lip nervously as I studied his face. He was very handsome. So were the other boys, but this one... he stood out from the rest. He had a very rugged complexion, and his chin was peppered with stubble, giving him a very devil-may-care look. When he laughed, it came out very bark-like, sending shivers down my spine. When he spoke, his voice sounded like a deep growl, extremely manly and definitely arousing. He probably was constantly suited by girls, I thought to myself. But the most entrancing thing about him was his eyes. They were ice cold blue. And beautiful. More beautiful than anything I've ever seen. A person could easily be captivated by just his eyes alone. I looked at him, full of admiration and wonder. He was beautiful, in a rugged, earthy way. I soon figured that he was their leader. Every question, every joke, every conversation went by him first before the other boys could speak it. It wasn't a contest as to why he was the leader either; I mean, he positively radiated authority. They called him David, addressing him as such every time they talked to him. I smiled; David, that was a good name.

The gang finally decided that they had had enough fun on top of my dock, so they revved their engines and moved out. I watched them with sad eyes; they had been a wonderful form of entertainment. I hadn't been this interested in human company since I ran away from home three years ago. They headed off towards the carnival. I watched them thoughtfully. Maybe I would go to the carnival tomorrow night, just to see if they were there. Probably could scavenge a few good scraps of food; if not, well... there's always bugs to eat. I scrambled back down to my hide hole, nestling into the pile of sheets on the floor. My stomach was full from the fries and half a corndog, my mind replaying the images of those boys, especially David, as I softly drifted off to sleep.

By the time I woke up the next day, the sun was already setting in the sky. Wow, I overslept. It's not like I had to be anywhere anytime soon, but usually I wake up at noon, not dusk. Ah well, those boys probably wouldn't be at the carnival till late at night anyways. _Why were they so important to me_? I suddenly wondered. _I haven't even spoken to them._ Probably because no one ever walks onto the pier where I live, so their presence was very memorable. Or maybe I was captivated by their appearances. Lord knows that all of them were well endowed when it came to looks. Then I began thinking to myself, _If I do find them at the carnival, what then? What- would I go up and talk to them? Hell no. I wouldn't have the guts to do that. Besides, what would I say? "Hi, you came on my pier last night, and I've been stalking you ever since." Bit creepy._ I sighed. Why _were_ they so important? Maybe I should just forget about them. And so I tried to. I left my home and headed towards the carnival, my mind set on finding food, not company. I did well, finding some scraps of a hamburger and a sliver of cotton candy. I've been lucky the past couple of days when it came to food. I smiled at my findings, forcing myself to walk away from the carnival without searching the crowd for those shocking ice blue eyes, and onto the beach, where I settled in the sand comfortably. I pulled out the remains of the hamburger and chowed down, savoring every last bit. It was particularly good, having only just been thrown out, so it was even still warm. The cotton candy had some shit stuck to it, but if I pulled that bit off, it was good as new. I sucked on the sweet crystallized sugar, wondering when the next time I would have cotton candy would be. When I finished my meal, I just sat there in the surf, playing with the grains of sand stuck to my skin. My mind began to wander again. Straight back to those boys. I wanted to go find them so bad. BUT WHY? I don't know. I feel like a creeper. But hey- it doesn't matter. I'll probably never see them again anyways. Why not dwell on a memory? I stood up tucking my switchblade into my combat boot, eventually deciding, just for the heck of it to go to the carnival tonight. Not scavenge for food- just hang out there, even if it was one of the more dangerous places in Santa Carla. Well, if something bad was gonna happen to me, why the hell shouldn't it be now? So I set off in the direction of the boardwalk. Maybe- just maybe- this would be fun.

I picked my way through the crowded streets, scanning the sea of people for anything dangerous. I've been in alert predator/prey mode for too long- it's a hard habit to kick. There are all sorts of flashing rides and street stands advertising their services loudly; it's all very exhilarating. I liked coming down here. I should do it more often. Even if I didn't have the money to buy anything at the stands or even a measly dime to ride the carousel, I was still having a great time. Just the sights, the sounds... a beautiful mystery.

I was walking past some store fronts, when a luminescent shop caught my attention. I turned and stared. It was a video rental store. My mouth nearly watered at the thought. Before I ran away, I had been absolutely in love with watching movies. If I'd seen a movie more than once, you could bet your ass I knew absolutely everything about it. My independence from my mother forced me to give up movies, obviously having no money. It was like drawing poison from a wound: slow, painful. But it never faded. I missed movies so much; seeing this store again felt like I had been starving since the dawn of time, but only just realized I was hungry. Knowing that I had neither money nor even a player to watch the movie on, I entered the shop, my eyes raking the shelves of videos hungrily. I drank it all in. All the genres and actors I had missed so dearly...

And then I spotted it. My favorite type of movies ever. Vampires. I grinned widely, rushing forward with an eagerness I had not known in ages. My fingers tips dragged along the surface of every video, every film there was on this classic genre. They had such a big collection here; bigger than any other rental store I'd ever seen. Adrenaline rushed through my veins. Vampires. My favorite subject in the world. I could be talking to a complete stranger about vampires and I'd never get bored. Sometimes I wished that they were real; sometimes I wished that I was one. Yeah, yeah- I know, you'd have to kill to eat, but hey. If I was a vampire living in Santa Carla, it would be no problem for me to pick of the nasty bottom dwellers of this town. Murderers. Rapists. Drug dealers. Plenty of bad eggs to pick from, making the world a better place as I snacked. And oh, how I wished I was a vampire. My mother used to scold my dad when I was little because he was the one that got me interested in vampires. There I was, an innocent ten year old, and I would leap around the house in a cape, fleeing from the sun, and drinking unhealthy amounts of tomato juice. Let's just say that I was not a normal child. But oh- here they all were: Horror of Dracula, Once Bitten, Nosferatu, Bram Stoker's Dracula... I could barely contain my excitement. If only I had a VCR player to watch them on. I sighed. This is the only time I missed my old life. Movies. My weakness.

A sudden ringing shocked me out of my thoughts. I turned around looking for the source. It had been the bell above the door of the shop, signifying if anyone came in or out of the shop. But that's not what froze me in my boots. It was the pair of ice blue eyes staring directly at me.


End file.
